In 'Treme', Music is the Star

David Simon's rich, complex shows have always been rewarding to watch alone, but they almost demand conversation, whether it's a debate over Baltimore's future or a reality check at a particularly audacious act of cruelty, style, or recklessness. His new show, an exploration of New Orleans' Treme neighborhood, premieres on HBO on Sunday at 10 p.m. And to start the inevitable discussion, Alyssa Rosenberg, Latoya Peterson, Matthew Yglesias, Anna John, Kay Steiger, and Rachael Brown will be talking Treme.Treme different from Simon's other shows. Then Matthew Yglesias questioned how realistic the show is. Latoya Peterson examined the series' approach to race and class. Kay Steiger looked at how the show depicts New Orleans' division between rich and poor.

From the very first sounds and shots of Treme—a reed in a
mouth, quick runs on a horn, the faded tattoo of a trombone—it's clear
that this is a show about musicians as much as it is about Katrina, or
New Orleans itself. In the course of the hour, we are witness to music
used for aggression, persuasion, mourning, a distraction, a job—and it
is incessant. It pours from car radios, a DJ's booth, a piano being
practiced, and most memorably in the joyous second line scene that
opens the series, where we're treated to the Rebirth Brass Band
pounding out "Feel Like Funkin' It Up."

New Orleans's musical culture serves as a lens through which David Simon can explore the
human condition. Just as Baltimore's drug trade provided
that lens in The Wire, the music here serves both as scenic
expression—what is New Orleans without its music?—and a narrative
element. The first episode, which premiered last night on HBO, begins
and ends with a parade; the first a celebration, the second a funeral
procession.

The first musician we meet is Antoine
Batiste, a hand to mouth horn player who talks his way out of
cab fare in time to join Rebirth in the second line. He announces
himself with a neat little riff, and then jumps into what The Village
Voice called
"the first opening monologue by a central character in a television
series delivered wordlessly, on trombone." Batiste, as played by the
wonderful Wendell Pierce (himself a NOLA native,
although here his parts are performed by Rebirth's Stafford Agee), is a
charismatic scoundrel. He blows out a powerful line only to playfully
boast, "That's the 6th ward in my bones, baby. Here in Treme. Y'all
don't know nothing about that." It's just a hint of what's ahead.
Throughout the first and second episodes, Simon uses music, and the
musicians themselves, to begin to delineate just who belongs in this
place and who does not.

The relationships aren't always easy to decipher. Take Davis McAlary, played by a shaggy-looking Steve Zhan. Davis hosts an overnight radio show but chafes at
shilling during pledge drives. ("Fucking New Orleans fucking canon," he
gripes about the compilation CD he's expected to spin, simultaneously
owning and disowning those "admittedly great 20 tunes.") He aims speakers out his windows to blare Mystikal's "Bouncin' Back (Bumpin' Me Against the Wall)" at his square, classical-listening neighbors. He calls
himself a musician, and though we've yet to see him play much of
anything, he seems to be accepted by the local legends he worships. In
one of the funniest scenes of the pilot, Davis awkwardly tries to
impress Elvis Costello, whom he's spotted at a jazz club. But by the end
of the second episode, Davis is shaping up to be a far more complex
presence than the stoner/slacker/groupie that the first makes him out
to be.

It should be appreciated how much care Simon has
given to who was actually playing in New Orleans "three months after."
At the time the show is meant to take place, Costello certainly was,
recording his album The River in Reverse
with local composer Allen Toussaint. Kermit Ruffins plays himself, as
do saxophonist Donald Harrison, and drummer Keith Frazier, who along
with Ruffins, is a co-founder of the Rebirth Brass Band.

The presence of "real" musicians among the characters provides a sense of authenticity that Simon clearly values, and also
underscores the tension that plays around the show's edges. Musicians in Treme are a useful stand-in for the social structure of the city as a
whole. We see those who've made it by leaving, only to return
post-storm, those who chose to stay, and many who aren't
making it at all. Seemingly two local musicians can
support themselves: Delmond Lambreaux (played by Rob Brown), and Kermit
Ruffins. Delmond has found success looking beyond the city's musical
heritage, playing straight-ahead jazz at the Blue Note in New York,
while Kermit is embracing that heritage completely, almost becoming a
caricature of it. After a gig, Davis urges a reluctant Kermit to go
talk to Costello, who had been in the club's audience. "Make a friend,
make a contact," he scolds. "Don't you want to get famous?"

However,
Simon doesn't let the viewer forget that for some, it's not just about
the music. "Play for that motherfucking money boys!" Antoine
continuously reminds his bandmates. The Treme Brass Band's drum is brightly painted with their booking phone
number. Sonny and Annie, street performers who
can spot a rube when they see one, tell a group of white tourists that
it costs $20 to hear "When the Saints Go Marching In" after a
request for "something authentic." Sonny and Annie are white too, but
here it is their music and their sense of cultural belonging, not their
race, that places them squarely inside the walls that Simon has started
to build.

There is a long tradition of jazz musicians
adopting a language of their own, and emphasizing the difference
between themselves and the audience, even as jazz itself evolved from
chord progressions that were designed to let anyone play along. Miles
Davis always played with his back turned on the crowd, and Lester Young hid behind sunglasses. Similar signposts dot Treme's landscape, giving
clues to who fits in where.

Not everyone loves the
performers. "I married a goddamn musician. Ain't no way to make that
shit right," LaDonna, Antoine's ex-wife, explains their divorce. For
some, the music is too painful. "I hate that fucking song," complains a
woman driving away from the city, switching off the classic tune "Do you Know What it Means to Miss New Orleans." For others, it is symbolic of the fear that the city's soul is being appropriated by post-Katrina chaos.

For
jazz fans, Treme is momentous, and aficionados of the
New Orleans horn-heavy style will fall over themselves spotting the
cameos. (The first episode alone includes performances by members of
the Donald Harrison Quintet, the Rebirth Brass Band, Kermit Ruffins
& the Barbeque Swingers, the Treme Brass Band, and the Treme
Sidewalk Steppers.) But even if you can't name a single Marsalis
brother, you'll enjoy yourself. Just try not to tap a toe to the
catchy performance of "Down in the Treme" that accompanies the opening
credits, despite the images of Katrina's extreme destruction
flashing across the screen. It's worth remembering that in New
Orleans, even mourners dance.

Here, Rachael Brown highlights the role that music plays in the series:

Rachael Brown is a writer and analyst for Bellwether Education Partners, a nonprofit organization working to improve educational outcomes for low-income students. A former Atlantic editor, she has written for The Guardian and Smithsonian.com, among other outlets. She is also a former public high school teacher.